


Together We'd Be Deadly

by ellemaude



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Organized Crime, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellemaude/pseuds/ellemaude
Summary: Her best friend is dead, and the one responsible still walks free. Since the justice system proved itself to be useless, Feyre seeks retribution herself and decides to hire a hit man. What she did not expect was to end up entangled in the politics of Prythian’s underworld.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Comments: 34
Kudos: 76





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for this fic: Mention of rape, mention of suicide, depiction of violence.
> 
> The beginning is inspired by a book I read recently, Furie by Myriam Vincent. There is no romance in the book, but I saw potential for a Court of Mist and _**Fury**_ modern AU. :) The title is from Lana Del Rey’s song Hit And Run.

Feyre stared at her laptop screen, her Chrome browser open in incognito mode, wondering what the hell to type in the search bar. _How to hire a hit man_? _Prythian hit men_? _Hiring hit man tips_?

Cauldron, this would never work. She would probably end up getting scammed or arrested by an undercover agent. Still, she had to try. It was the only way to punish the scum responsible for Clare’s death.

Her friend had pressed charges, but nothing had come out of the investigation. _Lack of proof_ , they said. Professor Dagdan had simply been asked to leave his position at Prythian University since him pursuing a relationship with a student had been deemed unethical, and was able to find work at a college in Hybern. Since he was loved by the students and admired in the theater scene, the story had made the news and had been on everyone’s lips. Clare had received an inconceivable amount of hate. Classmates and strangers alike were claiming that she had ruined a good man’s life. That she was attention-seeking. That she had been asking for it. For months the bullying had been relentless.

Clare had ended up taking her own life.

She was dead, and Markus Dagdan had simply found another job.

It had been six months, and her rage had not lessened. It was always there, hot and burning, a fire consuming her that only vengeance could tame.

The justice system was useless. There was _always_ a lack of proof, _always_ the same “who says she didn’t consent” bullshit, and _always_ a similar ending: the man kept his career and the victim was called a liar. No matter how many hashtags and how many marches, it stayed the same.

It was time to take drastic measures.

Feyre ended up typing _How to access the dark web_. She had to start somewhere, and she definitely wouldn’t find what she was looking for on the first page of a Google search.

She wound up on a forum where people were discussing the subject. Apparently, most who had tried hiring a hit man online had been deceived. Not surprising. She kept reading the thread of messages and saw a link that seemed interesting _._ Intrigued, she clicked on it and it took her to a chat room. For days she talked to a few people, not knowing who to trust. Eventually she was put in contact with someone who apparently was the real deal.

Her eyes were glued to the last message she’d received:

_tomorrow rainbow cafe at 3. wear a red shirt._

The next day, sporting red as she'd been instructed, Feyre showed up at the Rainbow Cafe, situated in a district of Prythian known for its art scene. It was a place she knew well, and she was relieved the meeting was in a public place and not in some grimy alley. She was suspicious of the fact that she had found what she was looking for this easily.

The cafe was a good cover, she thought: with its joyful atmosphere and bright colors, no one would suspect she was plotting a murder.

After ordering a chai tea and finding a table for two in a corner, she opened a book and pretended to read, trying not to look like she was waiting for someone.

She raised her head when she felt a figure approach her, and she was met with a short woman with East Asian features, straight chin-length black hair and crimson painted lips. Without saying a word, she took the seat in front of Feyre and looked at her, sipping her iced coffee and looking amused.

Feyre wasn’t sure what to do. She should have prepared herself better, but she’d been half convinced that this meeting was a scam and no one would show up. “Hi. I’m interested in your… services”, she said rather awkwardly.

“Of course you are”, the woman answered. “But do you realize the implications of what you’re asking? Once you cross that bridge, there’s no way back, girl.”

She did realize. She was already down a path she knew she would not come back from. Something dark and vicious had awoken inside her; she felt like her rage had obliterated her moral compass.

“I’ve thought about this, and I’m certain of what I want”.

The woman gave her a wicked smile. “Good. What’s your demand?”

“I want him dealt with.” She slid a piece of paper on the table with Dagdan’s name written on it. She didn’t dare say his name out loud. What if their conversation was being recorded?

“And how much are you willing to pay?”

Feyre blinked. “Don’t you want to know my motives?”

“Why would I ask you that? That wouldn’t be very professional, don’t you think? What I care about is whether you're loaded. Which I doubt.”

“Well, how much is it?”

“It starts at thirty thousand. It can be more depending on how... complicated the job is.”

Feyre felt her heart sink. She’d been naïve; of course it’d cost more than what she made in a year. She wanted to buy a _murder_ , not home appliance, for Cauldron’s sake.

“Can you tell me how to do it then?” she asked. The woman raised a brow at that, but did not speak, waiting for Feyre to keep talking.

She’d fantasized about it. Before what happened to Clare, she’d thought of murder as something that only occurred in fiction, something so far down the path of evil that she’d never seriously consider it. Feyre was a nice person, after all: she held the door open for strangers, thanked the cashier at the store, gave to charity when she could and felt bad for crushing a spider. No, murder had seemed like a completely abstract concept that normal people like her would never fathom.

She’d think about it when watching movies or TV shows, when characters like the Punisher killed without second thoughts. She liked seeing them kill their enemies. It was cathartic; nothing was more disappointing than those self-righteous heroes letting go of their revenge because they thought it’d make them just as bad as the villains. But it was only fiction, and fiction was meant to experience things you’d never want in reality. You could experience fear without being in true danger and having to suffer. You could lust after bad men who were only soft for their love interest without any risk of them hurting you. And you could feed the dark, bloodthirsty parts of you by watching pieces of shit die without having to deal with the horrors that came with the loss of a real life.

Most people had never seen someone die and could not handle any real reminder of death. They found abhorrent the fact that everything a person was, every thought, every memory they’d collected during their life was wiped away in an instant, with only an empty shell left behind. Feyre used to be the same; she admired people like medical examiners who were able to face death on a daily basis. But after Clare’s passing, the fact that Dagdan was still existing and unpunished was unbearable to her. She didn’t want him to be able breathe, think, act and feel while Clare could no longer do any of those things. She’d _relish_ in taking the life away from him.

“I know you didn’t ask for my reasons, but I’m seeking justice. Because of him, my best friend is dead, and he’s still free to do what he did to her to other women. I have to stop him, but I have no experience in… all of this. Is there any way you could help me at all? Anything you could do?”

The mysterious woman stayed silent for a while, assessing her. Feyre tried to keep her head high and not show how intimidated she was by her ruthless eyes and mocking smile.

“Do you even have any experience with violence at all? You think you’d be able to kill? This is no small thing.”

“Violence is inevitable”, Feyre answered. She’d come to this conclusion after Dagdan was cleared. “It’s only a matter of where you stand on the spectrum. I’m tired of being on the victim’s side.”

The woman gave her a nod of approval. She crossed her arms and said, “I know someone who could help you”.

She fished for something in her Louis Vuitton bag, pulled out a card and handed it to Feyre.

“Call and say Amren sends you.”

Feyre looked at the business card and read the name on it:

_Rhysand Velaris._


	2. chapter 2

Two days later, Feyre was sitting in the waiting area of a marketing firm’s administrative floor at the top of a building downtown Prythian. A “firm” that was doubtlessly hiding something much shadier. 

After meeting with Amren, the first thing she’d done had been to google the name on the business card. The search had been fruitless: there was nothing about Rhysand Velaris. It was as if he didn’t exist. She had also searched for the caption next to his name, _Hewn Advertising CEO_ , and despite the company having a website, he wasn’t mentioned anywhere.

She’d known that calling him meant she’d be diving deep into trouble, but there was no way of accomplishing her goal without taking any risk and associating with dangerous people. So far, this man was her only resource.

So she’d gone through her phone settings to hide her caller ID, had dialed the number and held her breath.

A woman’s voice had answered the phone, and as instructed, Feyre had told her she was being sent by Amren.

“Yes, of course, Miss. Rhysand would be free to meet with you the day after tomorrow at one thirty. Would that be okay for you?”

The receptionist had given her the address, and that was that. She'd realized she had not mentioned her name once, neither to Amren nor on the phone. The fact that those people were most likely able to find out her identity anyway made her feel uneasy.

A door opened next to where she was sitting just as she was taking a gulp of water from the foam cup in her hand. She choked at the sight of the man in front of her.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been _that_. He looked young, no more than thirty; his raven-black hair was cut short, and his dark blue eyes, such an unusual color, contrasted beautifully with his golden-brown skin. He was tall and lean, but with visibly muscled shoulders and arms. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and she spotted hints of tattoos on his upper arms. It was absurd how good-looking he was.

He stood in the doorway, ostensibly trying not to laugh and waiting for her embarrassing coughing fit to end before speaking.

“Feyre, please, do come in”, he said. “I’m Rhysand. It’s a pleasure meeting you.” His voice was deep and rich, and Feyre was beyond annoyed at the thrill the sound of it sent through her. The man seemed to possess the kind of charm he could successfully use as a weapon. She’d have to be even more careful.

She managed to voice a “nice meeting you too”, stood up, and followed him inside his office, still holding her now empty cup. Walking to the trashcan and coming back would just add to the awkwardness. 

The room was large, the style simple and classy; three of the walls were painted in white, and the fourth one behind his desk obsidian black. Large vases filled with purple orchids and jasmines (her sister Elain would be proud of her ability to identify the flowers) adorned the corners. The front space was furnished with two black armchairs and a lounge table.

Feyre’s eyes went to the massive grey cat sprawled on the desk, currently busy licking his front paw.

“Please, sit”, Rhysand said, gesturing toward one of the armchairs. “I hope you’re not allergic to cats. You’ve nearly died once since entering the place, I’d feel bad to endanger your life again.”

Feyre scowled, not knowing if she should be annoyed at him or at herself. “It’s fine, I am not. What’s his name?”

“Bryaxis.”

Bryaxis stopped licking himself, stretched his back, and sat as if to monitor them. The ruffs around his neck, like a lion’s mane, made him look regal.

Feyre took place on one of the armchairs while Rhysand sat on the other one, an ankle over his knee. This surprised her; she expected him to sit behind his desk. She wondered if the informal setting, the cat, going by his first name, was meant to give her the illusion they were on equal footing. It was most likely a trap to make her think he was not dangerous.

“So”, he started. “Sweet Amren has told me about your situation. If I understood correctly, you want revenge on the man who assaulted your friend, but you don’t have the means to hire a hitman, so you want help to do the work yourself. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I want to avenge my friend, but also make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone again.”

“Well, this is most unusual. You’ve managed to impress my dear friend Amren, which can be considered an exploit. And I see you’re determined to cross a line you can’t come back from to seek justice, despite having no experience with… what’s considered illegal and morally wrong by civilized society. Funny how a life of crime can manifest itself in anyone’s path, even a little human like you, isn’t it?”

“There’s nothing funny about this”, Feyre snapped. ‘Don’t condescend to me. I didn’t come here to be psycho-analyzed. Can you help me or not?”

She’d have to add “being rude to a guy who could most likely decide to kill her if he felt like it” on her list of bad life choices. But the smirk on his face, his mocking tone… it was making her see red. She wanted to be taken seriously, and she was tired of people underestimating her.

The prick’s smile only grew.

“Oh, I most definitely can. The question is, what can you offer me in return?”

Her hope started to vanish, and fear crept up her heart. There was nothing she could give him. She’d been _so_ stupid to come here. Did she really think he’d just help her out of the goodness of his heart? People like him didn’t hand out favors if they didn’t benefit from them. What if he forced her to…

“Don’t worry”, he said, sensing her panic. “I won’t force you into doing anything you don’t want. What I meant is that training you to kill someone, teach you how to do it properly without getting caught, would require time and money, more money, in fact, that simply hiring someone to do the job.”

“Why did you accept to meet me then, if you knew I had nothing to offer?”

“Oh, I think you have plenty to offer, darling”, he purred. “I have a proposition for you. Join my team. You’d be asked to help me make this organization thrive, but mostly, eliminate scums. Kill them. Criminals who roam the streets like cockroaches, seeking power, plotting to overthrow me, hurting women and treating them as trading goods. We’ll make sure you’re properly trained. And in return, I’ll help you kill the bastard who raped your friend.”

Feyre blinked in surprise. Was he seriously asking her to assassinate his enemies? She just wanted to kill Dagdan, not join the ranks of a criminal organization and become a serial killer.

But… she’d eliminate bad people, he’d said. Rapists and sex traffickers and molestors. Dagdan was only one person; she’d kill him and prevent him from hurting anyone again, but countless others like him would remain. He was offering her a life of violence, where she’d be dabbling in various illegal activities, but also an opportunity to make a real difference.

“You’d receive a generous salary, of course”, he continued. “No need to keep that soul-sucking job of yours. And you’d legally get paid under the guise of the company. As an art major, a position in graphic design would make sense for you.”

He really knew everything about her, then. “I see you’ve lost no time in learning my whole life story.”

He tilted his head and smiled apologetically. “You handed out your name to Amren. She saw it on your coffee cup. Feyre isn’t really common. You’ll have to be more careful in the future. This isn’t personal, love. I always keep tabs on anyone of…interest.”

Of course he did. But the thought of him knowing her weaknesses, who was close to her, _her sisters_ …

No. If she did the job well and didn’t betray him, there was no reason for him to hurt her loved ones. And if he threatened them, _he_ was the one who would suffer; she’d make sure of it.

“I won’t lie to you, though. If you accept, you can’t change your mind halfway. You will know too much about me and my organization. You will have to lie to everyone about what your occupation is, so make sure it’s something you’re willing to do.”

Or he’d have her killed, which was what he was implying. Fair enough, she thought. She wouldn’t have believed him if he said that he’d let her go if she accepted his offer, learned important information about him, then changed her mind.

Keeping this a secret wouldn’t be hard. She’d lost touch with everyone from college, and her sisters were the only family she had left. They were on good terms, but not close; she saw them a few times a year at most.

She had a choice. Accept his proposition, live a dangerous life, avenge Clare, and transform her constant anger into something concrete that would prevent these men from making more victims. Learn how to fight, to defend herself, and not be on the victim’s side anymore, or… go back to a normal existence that would never be safe anyway, where she’d always be angry at the unfairness of it all.

There was a huge risk, of course. After all, Rhysand _was_ a criminal, a powerful one at that; he was seemingly one of the top crime lords in Prythian. He most likely owned the damn city. He could be lying and planning to hurt her and betray her. There was no doubt he had his own agenda. 

But there was something in his tone, in his eyes, that had changed when he’d spoken about those types of men. The amusement and flirtatious tone had gone, and she had sensed a contained anger there, an emotion that she felt mirrored her own. As if he’d lost people to them, too. And he understood.

It was utter foolishness, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of going back to a mundane life where she’d remain powerless to truly make things change. Her anger and her need for revenge were her fuel, what was driving her; stop the motion, and she’d crash. She couldn’t go back to who she’d been before.

She made her choice.

“I accept your proposition.”

Rhysand’s eyes gleamed with delight. “Then it’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought Rhys with a cat fit somehow lol. Thanks for reading! <3


	3. chapter 3

Her training was to begin the very next day. Rhysand had merely told her that someone would get in touch with her in the morning. Indeed, at 7 AM sharp, someone knocked on her door. She cursed, still in her pajamas, believing “in the morning” meant at least 9 AM. Time was money for these people, she guessed. Literally.

She did her best to pull her bed hair into a half-decent ponytail, and went to open the door. In front of her stood a woman sporting a look Feyre could only dream of achieving this early in the day. Or ever. Her caramel blonde hair was perfectly curled, the eyeliner complimenting her pretty brown eyes flawlessly applied, and her skin was so smooth it looked nearly photoshopped. She was stunning. Despite the morning’s chilly weather, she was wearing a sleeveless red crop top and high-waisted denim shorts. 

Before Feyre could say anything, the stranger gave her a radiant smile and grabbed her into a quick hug.

“Hello”, she said merrily, pulling back. “My name’s Mor. You can thank me later for volunteering to give you a lift despite the ungodly hour. Amren wouldn’t have bothered knocking, and Cassian would have plastered you with gross remarks. You’ll see for yourself when you meet him.”

Her bubbly personality gave Feyre the impression she was being picked up for a cheerleading practice. Though considering who Mor’s employer was, she didn’t doubt the woman could be as ruthless as she was kind.

“Hi”, Feyre finally said. “I’m sorry I’m not even dressed yet, I thought you’d arrive later”, she added rather lamely.

“It’s fine. Go get comfortable clothes.”

Feyre went back to her room to trade her pajamas for a pair of leggings, a sport bra and a tank top. When she came back to the kitchen, Mor was sitting at the table, looking at her phone.

“Ready?” she asked, raising her head. “Good. Let’s go.”

Mor guided her toward a fancy sports car that matched the color of her clothes, lipstick and nail polish. Once they were seated, she picked up a paper bag and a plastic cup of coffee from the space between the seats and handed the items to Feyre.

“I figured you wouldn’t have eaten yet. That’d be torture to make you train without proper fuel and caffeine.”

Feyre peered inside the bag and was grateful to find a breakfast sandwich and hash brown. She was indeed hungry.

During the ride, Mor babbled about random subjects, from the road traffic to the latest Netflix hit show. Conversing with her was effortless, but as it had been with Rhysand the day before, she wondered if the casualness wasn’t a ruse to get her to drop her guard.

She figured she’d have to trust them if she wanted this to work. Whether they were honest with her or not, she was all in now. No need to stress over things she couldn’t control. Rhysand and his people might be what they were, but it didn’t mean they wanted to take advantage of her. Not everyone was like _him_. 

She wouldn’t let herself think of his name, hating that he still had a hold on her. She was reluctant to let people in; she'd learned the hard way that loving someone, either romantically or platonically, meant giving them the power to destroy you. They held your heart in their fist, and could either crush it all at once in the form of a painful betrayal, or play with it like a plasticine ball, manipulating it as they saw fit, removing chunks of it until it was so crumbled it seemed impossible to put back together again.

Clare had been there for her when she’d experienced the latter. She'd been her only real friend, the one person she knew she could trust without a doubt. But then Clare had been assaulted, denied any justice, and ostracised. She’d been so hopeless, so broken, that she’d thought death was the only way to end her pain. Anger and sorrow shot through Feyre at the thought, and she told herself that she wasn’t there to make friends anyway: she was there to avenge the one she’d had, and as long as Rhysand held his end of the bargain, it was all that mattered.

Mor drove them through a commercial part of the city and entered the parking lot of a building that hosted a Chinese restaurant, a footwear store, and a gym called _Devlon’s_. Once they were out of the car, they did not head toward the gym entrance as Feyre expected, but the side of the building. They stopped in front of an emergency exit, and Mor pressed the right digits on the keypad above the handle to pull the door open, revealing a downward staircase.

“Our private gym is in the basement”, she said. “Once Rhys gives you access, you can come here whenever you want. You can go to the public one upstairs if you wish, but I don’t recommend it. The manager’s a grumpy old prick.”

Down the stairs was another door requiring facial recognition to unlock. Mor successfully opened it to reveal what looked like a regular gym: two combat rings occupied the center, surrounded by training mats, free weights and workout machines. They were standing in what looked like a rest area, with tables, a fridge, a microwave, and shelves filled with protein powder jars, snack bars and fruits.

At one of the tables was sitting a heavily muscled man with long, dark brown hair tied into a bun. He got up at the sight of them, grinning.

“Morning, ladies”, he said cheerfully. “So, that’s our new little killer?”

He planted himself in front of Feyre, his biceps flexing as he crossed his arms, his hazel eyes assessing her from head to toe. His features were not perfect like Rhysand’s, but he was beautiful in a rugged kind of way. 

“You’ll have to eat an impressive amount of protein bars if you want to succeed in hurting anything”, he concluded.

Feyre scowled. She knew she’d lost weight in the last months, and the dark circles visible on her makeup-free face were probably not doing her any favors.

“We’ll see if you’re good at your job, then, since you’re the one training me”, she retorted, which made him bark a loud laugh.

“Morning to you too”, Mor drawled. “Good to know you’re still an ass no matter how early it is.”

“I’d hardly call this early.” He turned his attention back to Feyre. “I’m Cassian. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about cutting down your enemies, but first I need to evaluate your condition. I hope you’re ready to sweat.”

“Please don’t draw Feyre away on her first day. I like her already.” Mor moved toward her for another hug. “I have to go, but I hope we’ll see each other again soon. Don’t let Cassian bully you. He might look all tough, but a few mean words and he’ll cry.”

Feyre didn’t consider herself to be in bad shape; she had picked up jogging in the past weeks, chasing the satisfying exhaustion that came with physical effort in order to clear her mind and calm her raging thoughts. However, jogging for three miles, three times a week was the equivalent of playing on a playground compared to what Cassian put her through.

He made her run a battery of physical tests, from cardio to pull-ups to weight lifting, monitoring her strength and endurance. After two hours, she was feeling dizzy, slightly nauseous, and her legs were so weak she wondered if she’d be able to use the stairs to get out. She sighed in relief when he finally declared it was enough for the day, and brought her over to the cooldown section.

“It wasn’t bad”, he said as she lay on her stomach, holding her right ankle to stretch her quad. “You’re a bit uncoordinated, but you’re healthy and a quick learner. In a couple of months, you’ll be slaying men twice your size”.

Feyre grumbled a “yeah” for an answer, too exhausted to keep up. But Cassian was feeling chatty.

“So. How did Rhys convince you to work with us?”

She didn’t know what Rhysand had told him, if he’d mentioned their deal and why she really was here. She didn’t feel like talking about it, so she shrugged and merely answered, “His cute cat is what convinced me.”

Cassian scoffed. “That pet demon of his? I’d be careful if I were you. That thing’s evil.”

“He didn’t seem so bad. Does your boss know his assassin trainer is scared of a kitty?”

“He’s precisely keeping it around only to torment me.”

Feyre laughed quietly. It was disconcertingly easy to get along with these people, and once again, she had to remind herself of what they were. Criminals. Murderers.

What she was about to become.

Perhaps she was so unsettled because she was used to compartmentalizing. Prior to this, she would have categorized herself as belonging to a very different mental box. She couldn’t have imagined ever joking and getting along with people who killed for a living. They were not from the same world.

Well, they were now.

Cassian drove Feyre to the Hewn Advertising headquarters, claiming that it was his instructions. Feyre wanted nothing more than to get home and submerge herself in a warm bath, but apparently, Rhysand had other plans. She made a mental note to ask him for a detailed schedule. 

The receptionist, named Cerridwen according to the nameplate on her desk, greeted her with a smile. At her first visit yesterday, Feyre had recognized her voice as the one who’d spoken to her previously on the phone.

“Good morning”, she said. “You can go in. Rhysand will be here shortly.”

The office was in the same state it’d been yesterday, except Bryaxis was nowhere to be found. Feyre sat on one of the armchairs and groaned, her butt and thighs already aching. Tomorrow would be fun.

Fifteen minutes later, she was beyond annoyed at Rhysand’s lateness. If he couldn’t bother to be on time, then he couldn’t blame her for getting bored and snooping around. He hadn’t told her much about what, exactly, he and his gang were up to, what everyone’s role was, and she figured it would be smart to stay a step ahead. Just in case.

She got up and around his desk, and tried to open one of the drawers under it. It was unsurprisingly locked, as were all the others. Frustrated, she took a pin from her hair and attempted to pick one of the locks.

“Well, would you look at that.”

The voice startled her, and she looked up to see Rhysand casually propped up against the wall, smirking, his hands in his pockets. She mentally chastised herself for not noticing him entering. Blushing, she hid the hairpin in her fist, though her intentions were quite obvious.

“You’re late”, Feyre said defensively. “Just be on time if you don’t want people to pry. Or don’t let them in. It's the basics.”

“Oh, I never said I didn’t want you to snoop. In fact, I’m looking forward to the day you’re skilled enough to pick my locks.”

Well, at least there were no signs he was mad at her. She knew she was playing with fire by being insolent with him, but she couldn’t help it. “Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

“I wanted to make sure you'd still be in one piece after Cassian was done with you. I’ll consider the fact that you still have your wonderful temper as a good sign. I also wanted you to meet someone.”

He glanced toward the door he’d left open and tilted his head, inviting someone in. The man who entered was tall and handsome; his features were similar enough to Rhysand’s for them to pass as brothers, but whereas Rhysand always seemed to have an arrogant, cocky mask plastered on his face, the stranger’s expression was stone cold. His hair was the same color as Cassian’s, but cut shorter. At first sight, out of the three men she’d met in the past days, he looked the deadliest.

Rhysand spoke again. “Feyre darling, allow me to introduce you to one of your teachers. While Cassian will focus on your fitness, fighting and killing techniques, Azriel here will teach you about not getting caught, spying, breaking and entering, and yes, picking locks.”

Feyre approached the pair, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her appearance. They were both wearing elegant clothes, and she was still in her gym attire. Her hair was a mess and she probably smelled, not having showered after her training. Azriel didn’t seem to mind though, as he took a step toward her to shake her hand. She noticed his own was brutally scarred.

She turned toward Rhysand and asked, “Can I have my schedule for the rest of the day, or does keeping me blind amuse you?”

He chuckled. “It definitely amuses me, but I won’t be torturing you any longer today. Now that you’ve met my team, go home and rest. The next months will be…rather intense”.

That she had no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cocky lil shit Rhys is my fave Rhys.  
> Thanks for reading, let me know what you think :)


	4. chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: depiction of a past abusive relationship and sexual harrassment. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's shown interest in this fic! I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Feyre turned in her bed and punched her pillow, swinging one leg over the covers, desperately trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. July had come with the inevitable wave of heat that engulfed Prythian each summer, and as usual, she cursed herself for not having invested in an air con. She deemed it too expensive, though with her now considerable salary, money would not be an issue anymore.

She’d received her first paycheck, and her jaw had fallen when she’d seen the amount deposited in her account from Hewn Advertising. She now had enough to buy ten air cons if she wanted.

It had been three weeks since her first training session, and she was making slow but steady progress. Cassian was brutal and demanding, but encouraging, which made his lessons considerably effective. Azriel was more difficult to read; he was patient and polite, but she couldn’t tell if he was satisfied with her or not. His ability to explain a concept concisely and precisely made him an excellent teacher; he was a man of few words, but he knew how to use the right ones.

She hadn’t seen Rhysand since her first day. He’d texted her a few times, asking how she was faring or if she needed anything. She'd kept her replies brief, not wanting to engage more than necessary, reminding herself that these people were merely coworkers, not friends. Mor had invited her to go shopping a few days ago, but Feyre had declined, pretexting a headache. A lame excuse, but Mor hadn’t pushed. 

Sighing, she sat up and pushed away her bed sheets. Decidedly, she wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, so she might as well make use of that extra time. She got up, put on a pair of black cotton shorts and a purple Under Armour T, and picked up her bag. Rhysand had given her full access to the gym, and she intended to take full advantage of its air-conditioned environment. If she was too tired to train, she could just crash on a mat.

She still had time to take the last bus, which she prefered to an Uber, since making small talk with the driver was not her forte. Now having the means, she had started to shop for a car, but she had no idea what kind to buy. She didn’t see herself with something flashy like Mor, which would draw way too much attention (and questions from her sisters), or massive like Cassian’s SUV. Just a simple, practical, reliable car would do the job just fine.

The bus was nearly empty saved for a thirty something man in the far back. Feyre took place on her usual spot on one of the parallel sets of seats near the back, but she regretted it when the man’s attention went to her bare legs, ogling appreciatively. He brought a hand between his legs and grabbed himself.

_Shit._

Like she always did in situations like this, she averted his gaze, her anxiety rising up in her stomach. Changing places would draw attention to her even more and send the message that he’d won; talking to him risked angering him and making the situation worse. She knew Nesta would have succeeded in making him recoil with a mix of insults and a death glare that could scare anyone off, but Feyre wasn’t confident in her abilities to achieve the same results.

She mentally reviewed the techniques Cassian had shown her this week; she could probably hold her own just fine against this guy, who wasn’t very big, but the mere thought of him raising his voice and approaching her made her freeze in fear.

_Their bedroom was a mess. The mattress was turned upside down; her clothes and the content of her nightstand were spread all over the floor. She found him sitting against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees. He would not look at her._

_“Tamlin…”_

_“So. Who did you fuck tonight.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but she didn’t miss how his voice shook with rage._

_“What? Tamlin, I’m not cheating on you, why the hell would you think that?”_

_He got up and approached her. The angry, icy look on his face made her instinctively take a step back._

_He let out a dark laugh. “See? You don’t even want me to get close to you.”_

_“But I_ do _want you close, you’re just so angry, look at the mess…”_

_“Oh? The mess, you say?_ You’re _the mess, Feyre.”_

_He was raising his voice, his fists closed so tightly she could see the veins pop on his forearms. She was starting to shake. “You keep going to these frat parties, dressed like a slut, and for what? You like the attention you’re getting, uh? You like that having an older boyfriend makes you fuckable?_

_“WHAT? No…”_

_“I’ve told you what college boys are like. I’ve warned you to be careful, but you don’t give a shit.”_

_“I don’t know what got into you, but…”_

_He picked up a box of condoms from the content spilled on the floor, and threw it at her face._

_“For next time”, he said viciously._

_He left the room and slammed the door with all his strength, the sound echoing in her skull, adding another crack to her fractured heart._

_⠀_

It had been a year since she broke up with him for good, but remnants of fear still lived inside her, like a stain on her soul. She shook the memories away; she wasn’t helpless anymore. If this man knew the people she hung out with, what she did for a living, he’d wet his pants. She could text Rhysand, and he'd have one of his men inside the bus within a minute. He’d take care of it, but if she went to him for help, what kind of message would it send? He was training her to fight and kill the worst criminals imaginable. She’d have to face people who were much more dangerous. She couldn't depend on him, on anyone. 

She felt her anger rise. Dagdan, Tamlin, predatory strangers. She was done letting them win.

She opened her bag and fished out the pocket knife Cassian had asked her to carry, not because she was a woman, but because none of them could be too careful given how dangerous their occupation was. She turned her attention to the guy, flicked the knife open and said sweetly, calmly, “I’ve been looking for someone to gut all night. It turns out you’re the perfect candidate.”

The man’s eyes opened wide, a confused expression forming on his face. “What the fuck, you crazy bitch!”

She ignored him and stayed silent, smiling and caressing the blade with her finger. It was time to demonstrate how much of a crazy bitch she could be indeed.

He pushed the button to request his stop and quickly walked past her, muttering a string of insults in which she caught the word “bitch” again, before he exited the bus.

Soon. Soon that blade would draw blood.

She crossed Devlon’s nearly empty parking lot to reach the side door that led to the private gym. It was slightly thrilling to be here at 1 AM; night time had that effect on places. Everywhere felt like a liminal space, slightly surreal.

She didn’t feel tired at all anymore, adrenaline having kicked in, and she was looking forward to practicing her jabs.

Except someone was already making use of the punching bag.

She stopped abruptly in the entrance as she saw Rhysand in a boxing stand, wearing dark grey sweatpants and nothing else, throwing precise and powerful punches. She stepped back, planning to leave before he noticed her, but his head snapped toward the door before she could move. A wicked smile grew on his face.

“Aw, it’s okay, you can look”, he crooned. “I know it’s quite the sight.”

She rolled her eyes as Rhysand moved toward the fridge to snatch a bottle of water. She ignored the bob of his throat as he took a gulp, the sweat gleaming on his muscles, and the swirling black tattoos running from his upper arms to his shoulders and chest. He was right, but dying was a preferable option to admitting it out loud.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Feyre said, sitting at one of the little tables. Your head’s already big enough, it would get stuck in the doorframe. Although _that_ would be quite the sight.”

He snorted, looking impossibly smug.

“So”, he began as he took the seat in front of her. “Pray tell, what brings you to me in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t get too excited. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Where did you expect me to be, then?”

“I don’t know. In some fancy nightclub, a woman on each arm, snorting cocaine.”

He threw his head back as laughter erupted from him. “What a terrific image you have of me.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be seen as something else. Isn’t it what you are? An almighty, untouchable crime lord?”

“Hmm. Almighty? It does sound good when you say it'', he purred, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

Feyre quickly looked away from his face, the conversation taking a turn too dangerous for her liking. Her eyes stopped at his tattoos, and before he could come up with another smooth comment, she asked, “Are those gang tattoos? Does everyone who pledge allegiance to you have them?”

“Nah. Cassian and Azriel do, but I don’t force anyone to get tattooed. Amren would chop my head off if I did. Then tell me to stick the needle up my ass.”

Amren, the tiny, but terrifying woman who’d put her in contact with him. Feyre hadn’t seen her since that day at the cafe.

“What does she do for you?” she asked.

“Amren manages the casinos, gambling rings, and the auctions. She excels at smuggling valuable objects. She’s also my second, which means she’s to take my place if I’m killed.”

“What was she doing surfing on TOR and answering my call for a hit man, then?”

Rhysand shrugged. “We all have our hobbies. Well, in her case, a lucrative side gig.”

“So it’s not part of her work for you? And you let her do it?”

“I don’t “let” her do anything. She’s smart enough not to get caught, and the hunt, the thrill of doing it all by herself… it helps her soothe her edges.”

_Cauldron_. “Aren’t you scared of her?”

“Of course, but she wouldn’t be as effective as my second if I wasn’t. She calls me on my shit when needed, which is often. She’s bloodthirsty, but loyal.”

An interesting dynamic, Feyre thought. His inner circle indeed seemed loyal to him, but not out of fear or seeking more power. She knew Rhysand wouldn’t have become this successful by being naïve, but the idea of this supposed dream team in such a vicious, violent environment seemed bizarre, incompatible.

“What about the others?”

“Cassian’s in charge of security within the organization. Whenever we have meetings with associates or customers, he evaluates how many men to bring, what weapons to bear, all of this strategically so we can both send the right message and stay as safe as possible. He makes sure we’re always prepared to fight. He’s also who I’ll call when I need to…step up my game to get what I want.”

Feyre scoffed. “You mean when you want someone to get beaten up or extorted?”

“Precisely.”

Her loud, outgoing coach was Rhysand’s goon, then. Considering Cassian’s frame, what he could do, she wasn’t surprised, but it was difficult to picture him as a bully. She guessed she’d witness it sooner or later.

“As for Azriel”, Rhysand continued, “he’s in charge of spying, finding my enemies, and fishing out information from them.”

“Torturing them, you mean.”

“Semantics.”

“You know, you don’t have to sugarcoat things. Don’t treat me like I can’t handle it.”

He tilted his head, contemplating her. “I’d be a fool to underestimate you, Feyre Archeron”, he said quietly after a few heartbeats, his voice nearly a murmur.

Her breath caught in her throat as she was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, the way her name rolled on his tongue. She composed herself, cursing his ability to dazzle her.

“What about Mor?” she pressed.

“Mor’s main task is to make sure the flow between Hewn Advertising and our more… lucrative business is fluid. The marketing firm’s quite useful in keeping up appearances. Mor makes sure our profits appear legit by funneling them through the right channels.

“You make her do your laundry? Charming.”

He chuckled. “She launders money, yes, but she’s also my third. She’s highly skilled and she steps up wherever she’s needed. She also assists me in supervising our supply chain.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to elaborate.

“Drugs, counterfeits. That cute stuff.”

She stayed silent for a while, contemplating what he’d revealed. The money laundering, the gambling, the drugs… She couldn’t say she was shocked. He led a powerful criminal organization, after all. She’d made the mistake of focusing on the “killing bad men” part of their first meeting, and now she couldn’t see where it fit in his empire. A piece of the puzzle was missing.

“You said you hired me to find and kill sex offenders. I don’t see why you’d even bother, considering your apparent lack of interest in anything that doesn’t contribute to make you richer.”

Rhysand wasn’t smiling anymore. “When I say Az is looking out for enemies, it does include sex offenders, you know. I have many men working under me, and it happens that some of them think they can get away with extracurricular activities, to put it that way. This is my city. I don’t tolerate that. They’re the ones you’re going to kill.”

He sighed before he continued, “Lately, things have been…bad. The sex crime rate is increasing, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep up. That’s why I hired you; to help us out on that front, but also help find the source. Someone’s trying to taint my reputation and take control of Prythian; there’s been too many recent instances of stolen shipments and theft amongst my guys for it to be a coincidence. Someone’s trying to take over the underworld by seducing the easily corrupted.”

Feyre processed his words. It was a lot to take in, but she understood better, and was glad he’d decided to enlighten her at last.

“And when are you planning to act on your end of the deal?” 

“Once we’ve made progress, which I believe will take a few months, I’ll assist you in kidnapping that son of a bitch, so you have all the time in the world to torture him at your leisure. It’ll be more difficult since he’s a public figure, his disappearance will inevitably make noise, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

_Torture him at your leisure._

She had indeed thought about how a quick death would be too merciful. She wasn’t sure yet how far she’d go, but it was relieving to know someone who understood, who wouldn’t judge her.

“Alright, enough chit-chat”, Rhys said as he got up. “Let’s go. Fighting ring. Time to demonstrate what you’ve been learning.”

“Come on. One more time before we call it a night. Step forward, step through, shoulder dip and push.”

Feyre wanted to retort that she knew the steps, having practiced them a dozen times already, but she was too tired to argue. They got into position, Rhys grappling her in a choke hold from behind. Despite her exhaustion, she managed to execute the moves swiftly and get out of his grip.

They’d been practicing self-defense techniques for nearly two hours. Mercifully, he’d put on a shirt. He had a bossy coaching style, which had caused her to snap at him a few times, but he was skilled and he knew what he was doing.

They gathered their bags and headed outside, the sun already visible on the horizon.

“I’ll give you a lift.”

Feyre was too exhausted to speak as she took place in his shiny black car. She didn’t care to notice the brand. She just wanted her bed.

She rested her head against the backrest, fighting to keep her eyes open, but they closed on their own accord. At least Rhys looked wakeful enough to drive safely. People like him never seemed to need any sleep.

She woke up to a hand gently nudging her shoulder.

“Wake up, darling. You’re home.”

She felt dizzy and disoriented, as she was in that half-conscious state one would find themselves in when waking up after getting too little sleep, but she managed to unfasten her seatbelt and exit the car.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And if you find yourself in need of nighttime companionship again, send a text.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final number of chapters is approximative. I have the major plot points and ending figured out, but I don't know how long the journey will be 😄


	5. chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys watch La Casa de Papel (Money Heist) on Netflix? There are some references in this chapter, but no spoilers about the show.
> 
> These days I've been listening a lot to Epik High's new album, Epik High is Here 上 Pt. 1, which I think fits the vibes of this story, if you want to check it out.

Feyre took a sip of her drink, trying her best to ignore the Little Mermaid and Jack Sparrow’s steamy make out session occuring at the table in front of her. She cringed, not being particularly keen on vodka, but she’d deemed it necessary if she hoped to make it through the night. She’d gone to her fair share of parties in college, but without the help of alcohol, the chances of her gathering up her courage to brave the dancefloor were quite slim.

Apparently, Mor was a Halloween freak. She’d texted Feyre a week ago, asking her to “find a costume ASAP” for their annual celebration at Rita’s. The bar appeared to be the group’s favourite; Mor, Cassian and even Azriel had invited her to join them there a few times in the last months, but she’d never responded positively until now. She’d been hesitant, but she was starting to run out of excuses, and she figured a single night out with them wouldn’t do any harm.

She had to admit her Little Red Riding Hood costume made her look rather good. Three days prior, when she’d admitted to not having found anything to wear, Mor had taken it upon herself to plan her outfit, and had unearthed a white laced, mahogany corset, the padded bustier embroidered with black flowery shapes, along with a short circle red skirt and a crimson hooded cape. Mor had also curled her hair and taken care of her makeup: she was sporting bloody claw marks around her left eye, which was now plain white thanks to a colored contact lens. For the shoes, Feyre had opted for low cut black Converse instead of the high heel boots Mor had selected, alleging that sneakers were a more logical choice for a character known to roam the forest.

As she had admired the result in the mirror, she’d noticed how toned her thighs and butt had become, how defined her arms now looked. Three and a half months of hard work were paying off; she’d gained strength, and her aptitudes in hand-to-hand combat were now fairly decent. A few weeks ago, Cassian had introduced her to weapons, and she now knew how to shoot, cut and strangle, though she had yet to put the skills to practice on a real person. He’d told her what to expect: the blood that would spurt out of one’s ripped throat, how a blade would feel against skin, and how killing was physically a lot more difficult than it looked. She’d have to hit at very precise spots in order to be successful. As for Azriel, he had taught her how to break into a house, stalk a victim without getting caught and learn their routine in order to catch them off guard and when they were at their most vulnerable. Every situation was different, and she’d have to use her judgement to determine the time and place of each job. Once she was done, she wouldn’t have to bother with the body, since Rhysand would send a clean-up team to get rid of the evidence. 

She’d taken the habit of going to the gym at night when she had trouble falling asleep. Sometimes Rhys would be there, and they’d train together until morning. It had somehow become their strange little ritual. He was arrogant, irritating, and he’d make her roll her eyes and grumble more times than she could count during a practice, but talking to him was… effortless. She didn’t feel the need to pretend, the need to fit into one of the roles she’d constructed around herself and would put on depending on who she was interacting with. It was freeing, but she also felt wary of how vulnerable it made her. It was why she avoided seeing him outside of their sessions; it was safer to keep their time together hidden in the night, within the four walls of the private gym, where the unlikeness of them meeting there somehow helped passing it off as a dream, as something that wouldn’t be brought up once the sun was out.

He’d texted her after that first night, the message waiting for her when she had woken up in the late morning.

 **Rhysand:** _I hope you’re not too sore after our wild night together_

She’d scowled and had typed back, _I’m still able to walk so you’ll have to do better._

He’d replied almost instantly. 

**Rhysand: __** _I gladly accept the challenge. Anytime you want_ 💦 

Her mouth had dried and the heat had risen inside her at the sight of that damned emoji. She hadn’t replied, wisely choosing to put away her phone and hop in the shower instead.

She’d texted him earlier today to ask if he was planning to go to Rita’s, and he’d answered that he was busy but that he might make an appearance. She’d tried to guess what he’d be wearing. He always looked so composed, so in control, that it was almost absurd to imagine him dressed in a silly Halloween attire.

 **Feyre:** _You better show up at Rita’s. I want to see you in a costume._

He’d taken a while to write back this time.

 **Rhysand:** _Good to know the kind of stuff you're into...tell me if you have any requests_

She’d rolled her eyes but snickered at his words, both cursing and admiring his ability to make an innuendo out of everything.

The party at Rita’s was now in full swing, but Rhys was still nowhere to be found. Feyre kept sipping at her drink as she spotted Mor and Cassian dancing, respectively Harley Quinn and Jon Snow for the night. The latter made his way to the booth and crashed next to her. Visibly drunk, he peered into the wicker basket that she’d put on the table.

“It’s empty!” he whined. “Aren’t you supposed to bring food to your grandma?”

“I thought the state of my face made it obvious that the wolf ate all of it”, Feyre retorted, gesturing toward her makeup.

“Did he? I thought you’d be able to hold your own against a tiny wolf after all that training.”

Before she had the chance to come back at him, the Phantom of the Opera took the spot on her other side.

“Hey, Az! Want a beer?” Cassian said in greeting as he stuck a bottle under his friend’s masked nose.

“No thanks, I’m not drinking. I’m on watch.”

“On watch? What for? What’s Rhys up to?”

“He didn’t tell me. He said he’d text if he needed help.”

Azriel looked tense, and Feyre wondered if he was displeased by the fact that Rhys had dismissed him. Cassian had once told her that Az felt bad about taking any time off.

Mor chose this moment to show up. “Are you three getting off your asses anytime soon?”

Only Cassian rose; Feyre stated that she wanted to finish her drink first, and she was glad that Azriel didn’t move an inch either. At least she would not be left sitting alone.

“So”, Azriel began, “What’s the ugliest outfit you’ve seen tonight so far?”

They went off on a gossiping session about the terrible fashion choices some people had come up with. Azriel was a naturally cold, quiet man, but he had a subtle sense of humor and he’d never made Feyre feel awkward or like she was bothering him. She’d been slightly intimidated at first, but she’d found out he was as easy to talk to as Mor and Cassian.

 _And Rhys._ She tried not to let herself think about him and his taunts, scared that a few vodka cranberries later she’d drunk text him something inappropriate about what sort of costume she’d want him to wear. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t resist… bantering with him. 

She wouldn’t let herself think of the word flirting.

“I need to go”, Azriel exclaimed as he stared at his phone. “Something came up.”

“Is it Rhys? Can I help?”

Azriel hesitated. “Are you drunk?”

“I only had one drink."

He didn’t seem convinced. “What you’ll witness won’t be pretty.”

Feyre knew she had to take that next step eventually. She was done playing. “It’s okay. I can handle it. And if there’s nothing I can do, I’ll stay out of the way.”

He considered her for a few heartbeats, but ultimately nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Azriel led Feyre into the basement of some sort of warehouse located in an industrial district of the city. During the ride, he’d told her that Rhys had caught one of his men, a club manager, stealing drug money and engaging in unauthorized activities, whatever that meant, and he’d wanted Az to be there for the interrogation. 

They entered what looked like a poorly maintained employee’s room, with a dirty table, metal chairs, and a fridge turned yellow with age. Feyre spotted Amren sitting with a foot plopped on the table, filing her nails, a gloriously bored look on her face. Her eyes went to the back of the room, where a forty-something looking man was gagged, his hands bound together behind his back, and his ankles tied to the legs of his chair. Next to him, Rhysand was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, dressed in a red jumpsuit and black gloves and boots.

“Oh, Feyre darling”, he cooed. “I’m glad you decided to join us, though I didn’t intend to ruin your party.”

He tried to sound like his usual smooth self, but Feyre noticed an edge in his voice.

He turned his attention back to the prisoner. “You know Mr. Attor, Az? I’d been having doubts about him, so I did my little investigation tonight. Turns out, not only did he fail to sell his dope properly, but his focus was on something else, wasn’t it?”

His tone was cruel, vicious. Feyre was used to the low, drawling purr he typically used with her, and the more serious, commanding voice he favoured during training, but she’d never heard him sound like this. Like he knew he was about to break this man, and was enjoying every second of it.

“We chatted for a bit”, Rhys continued. “He had quite a lot to say. You could tell he was thrilled to meet a fellow _Money Heist_ fan, not even caring about who could be hiding under that mask. When I confessed to him I was lonely, you know what he told me? That he had a lot of variety in the back. You hear that?”

Rhys pushed away from the wall to go face the man, and without warning, punched him hard in the stomach before removing his gag.

“Care to enlighten us about that little side business of yours? About how you started secretly pimping to make money behind my back?”

“I didn’t plan any of this, okay!” the man panted. “It’s this red-haired bitch. She came up to me, and she offered to recruit girls for the club. Said she’d do most of the work and make sure the right people knew about it. That I’d be making loads of cash. Why the fuck would I say no to this?”

Rhys backhanded him hard across the face. “How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know, a few weeks.” The man spit blood.

“The woman who brought the girls in”, Azriel probed in a cool, implacable voice. “What name did she go by? Describe her.”

“Said her name was Amarantha. She looked around thirty. It’s all I know.”

Rhys delivered another blow. “For your sake, I suggest you make a little effort. Did she have any tattoos?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any. Please… anyone would’ve done the same. I thought you’d be...”

“Some of them were minors, weren’t they”, Rhys interrupted, his voice dripping with fury.

The prisoner spat again. “I didn’t inquire about it. Who cares? The younger they are, the greater the demand. Please, I intended to tell you....”

Feyre winced as Rhysand struck him again. And again. Blood was spilling from the man’s mouth and nose, and one of his eyes was closed and swollen.

“Rhysand”, Amren sighed loudly, not turning her attention away from her nails. “You know that fuck didn’t bother to learn more, as long as he was getting paid. If you don’t end him soon, I will.”

The man screamed frantically, begging for his life. Rhys ignored him, and with an aloof, disinterested expression on his beautiful face, grabbed the guy by the neck and shoved him forward. “You heard the lady”, he murmured. He then pulled a knife from one of his jumpsuit pockets, and without warning, plunged it into the man’s back.

Brutal, efficient. Rhys had known how to successfully stab him so he’d die almost instantly.

“Tell your guys to dump him in an alley near the bar”, Rhys instructed Azriel while cleaning the blade with a tissue, seemingly unphased by what he’d just done. “You can search the club before sending word to Vassa about the girls.”

Feyre stared at the dead body slumped on the chair. She felt weak and dizzy, her stomach acting up. She retched, and rushed toward the trashcan next to the door in time to empty the content of her stomach into it.

She closed her eyes, and tried to even her breathing before facing the three people inside the room. 

Worry shone in Rhys’s eyes, and she was about to say something to reassure him when Amren got up and moved toward her to gently grab her shoulder. She sniffed and frowned at the smell. “Ew. How much vodka did you have? Come get some fresh air.”

Amren’s tone was surprisingly soft, and Feyre followed her up the stairs and outside the warehouse. She shivered, her thin cape not doing much to shield her against the cold, but the crisp air helped her fight her remaining nausea.

“Feeling better?” Amren asked.

Feyre sighed. “You must all think I’m weak now.”

“Weak? No, just that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit.”

Feyre was thankful for her attempt to deflect the cause of her sickness. She stayed silent, trying to decipher her feelings.

The man’s death didn’t upset her; he’d deserved it plenty for what he’d done. She hadn’t minded the violence either. It was the sight of the corpse that had made her uneasy. A body that had been screaming, feeling, moments ago, and had become an empty shell in a matter of seconds. It was unsettling. Perhaps she had reacted instinctively because she’d been conditioned for so long to feel that way at the loss of a life, to think, _what if she had been the one getting stabbed?_

She thought about Rhys’s ruthlessness. How he’d done it so casually, as if he’d been cutting through butter. Had it always been like that for him? Had he gotten sick the first time he’d had someone else’s blood on his hands, and had gradually become immune to it? Unfeeling?

She turned her attention toward Amren. “You’ve killed before.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Your point?”

“I just… Did you ever wonder if you’d... lose your soul?”

It seemed like a stupid question to ask someone like Amren, and Feyre almost expected her to leave and tell her she was wasting her time, but she snorted and seemed to chew on the idea before answering.

“This isn’t Star Wars, or some sort of fantasy world. There is no light or dark force, there is only you and your choices. Your soul, if you believe in such a concept, belongs to you and no one else. It’s the essence of who you are... you can’t lose it like a body part.”

She paused and kicked around the gavel at her feet before continuing. “People inflict pain and kill indirectly everyday through their lifestyle, but they choose to stay blind to it. They hide behind their comfort and a heaping pile of cognitive dissonance, convincing themselves they belong amongst the good crowd, patting themselves on the back for giving a penny to a starving man. But you chose to fight. You chose not to bury your head in the sand.” She shrugged. “I’d say it’s the opposite of losing your humanity, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

Feyre stayed silent and looked up at the clear, starry sky. She wouldn’t become a different person once she’d cross that line. Unconsciously, she had erected a wall between her and these people, believing she would only be part of their world once she started ending lives.

But she already belonged. Maybe she had _always_ belonged.

The door of the warehouse opened up to reveal Rhys. “We’re leaving”, he said. “Azriel’s men will turn up to take care of the scene, and it’s better if there aren’t too many people around.” 

Feyre assessed him. He was still wearing his red jumpsuit, his Salvador Dali mask dangling from one hand. She now had her answer on what costume he’d be wearing.

“Rhysand, we need to discuss all of this tomorrow.” Amren turned toward Feyre before heading toward the street. “See you around, girl.”

As she left, Rhys sized up Feyre shivering in her sleeveless corset. “You must be freezing. Come on, let’s get you home.”

They made quite the picture, Feyre thought as she got into his car. _Little Red Riding Hood following the big, bad wolf._

But the cover was deceiving. She was a wolf too now, not a defenseless little girl, and if people didn’t see it, kept underestimating her...She’d used that to her advantage.

“You okay?” Rhys asked as she fastened her seatbelt, the concern visible on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

As he turned on the ignition, she took in the way the moonlight illuminated his features, his slightly stubbled jawline, his strong hand gripping the wheel. He’d given her a ride home a dozen times before, but tonight, the atmosphere felt...different. Perhaps because her mind kept going back to that warehouse, to the way he’d threatened the man, beaten him, killed him without second thoughts. She’d known how dangerous he was, but she’d finally seen it in person. His presence seemed to envelop her, the car too small for what he was, for the aura of power he was emitting. 

Realizing she’d been staring, she dropped her gaze to the mask he’d put between the seats and picked it up.

“I used to have a print of one of Dali’s paintings in my home, but my ex hated it and threw it away.”

She didn’t know what had prompted her to bring this subject.Thankfully, Rhys didn’t ask her to elaborate.

“He sounds charming.”

Feyre bit her lower lip and glanced at the mask again. “So... you’re taking pages out of the Professor’s book now?” 

“More like he took a page out of mine.”

She gave him a look. “What do you mean?”

“The city names. You truly believed Velaris was my real name?

Feyre scowled. “How was I supposed to know?”

“It’s a city from a story my mother used to read me as a kid. I chose to go by that name after she died.”

“Oh...” Feyre managed to say. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t push, regarding the fact that he trusted her enough to confide in her.

They stayed silent for a while. Once they reached her apartment, Feyre dared ask, “May I know your real name, then?”

He winked at her. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

“I’ll call you tomorrow to brief you on what’s next. You and I might go on a little trip.”

“Really? Where?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Rhys chuckled and turned toward her, bracing an arm around the back of his seat.“I would never dare. I was merely suggesting that you, Miss Archeron, get some well deserved beauty sleep.”

She glared at him.“Goodnight, Mr. _Velaris_. Or whatever your name is.”

She could feel his gaze on her as she got out of the car and made her way to the front door of her building, like a warm caress on her back, her neck, despite the biting cold. She turned back only once her hand was on the doorknob, and he chose that moment to leave, his black car setting off into the night.

Later, as she lay in bed browsing her phone, her thumb wandered over Rhysand’s message thread. It was stupid; she didn’t even know what she wanted to say.

She tried to subdue the part of her brain that was disappointed he didn’t text her, plugged her phone and dropped it on the nightstand. With whatever he’d planned for them tomorrow, he’d have more than enough time to annoy her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously...what is Rhysand's last name?? 😂  
> Thanks for reading I appreciate it, let me know what you think <3


	6. chapter 6

“ _Formula One superstar, Tarquin Summer, is crowned the winner of the Vallahan Grand Prix, and therefore maintains his lead in the championship with only four races left in the season._ ”

The sound of the morning news swallowed Feyre’s curse as she picked up the empty carton of milk from the fridge. Living alone, she didn’t have anyone else to blame but her past self for putting it back in there the last time. Not feeling like eating dry Cheerios and drinking black coffee, she put on her coat, snatched her umbrella and braved the freezing rain to head to the convenience store located a few buildings away from her place.

As she walked, her mind wandered to yesterday’s events, and she started to feel sick at the thought of the girls who had been tricked into prostitution at Attor’s club. Rhys’s words from months ago resurfaced in her memories.

_The sex crime rate is increasing._

_It’s becoming harder and harder to keep up._

_Someone’s trying to take control of Prythian._

Was Amarantha this “someone”? Did Rhys know her? He had not yet contacted Feyre regarding their supposed trip, but the day was still young. She guessed he would get in touch with her at the last minute, per usual.

Once inside, she grabbed a carton of milk along with a pack of gum and got in line to pay, eying the display of books and magazines near the counter. A headline on the cover of _Prythian Arts & Leisure_ caught her attention. 

_The Wall - Brand new play by Markus Dagdan_

She seized a copy with shaking hands and skimmed it to learn that his play would premiere in Hybern in the spring and he had high hopes it would get picked for Broadway. The rest seemed to highlight his Ph.D. in literature and his teaching career in Prythian and Hybern. 

Men like him could live their best life despite the evidence of them being complete trash. They could put out mediocre content and have it praised for being “subversive”. They could thrive despite deserving to rot in a prison cell. 

She took a deep breath and tried to soothe the rage rising in her chest with the thought of him rotting six feet underground instead, his corpse next his fellow abusers and rapists she’d dispatch as well.

“Miss? You’re gonna take that?” the clerk asked.

“No. Sorry.” She forced herself to smile as if she had not been fantasizing about murder, put the magazine back on the display and paid for her items.

As she was about to step outside, her phone vibrated in the pocket of her coat. Fumbling for it, she saw that the incoming call was from Rhys.

He’d never called her before, preferring to communicate via text messages. She answered despite feeling weird about talking on the phone in a public place.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” he said in his smooth, suave voice. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did.” 

“Good. Because I’ll be at yours in fifteen. We're going on a little road trip.”

“ _Fifteen minutes?_ I’m running an errand right now!”

“Twenty, then.” 

She sighed loudly. Last minute indeed.

“See you later, Feyre.” She could hear the amusement in his tone. Tormenting her truly delighted him. 

She hurried back to her apartment, stored the milk in the fridge and passed her sadly forgotten Cheerios bowl to go change. After donning a simple, black turtleneck and a pair of loose jeans, she headed to the bathroom to brush her hair and wash her face. 

She was in the process of packing her purse when the doorbell rang. 

Rhysand stood on the threshold, dressed in a black shirt, two Starbucks cups and a paper bag in hand. His hair was slightly wet from the rain. 

“May I come in?”

Feyre nodded and stood aside to let him pass. He strolled in and offered her the bag along with one of the cups.

“Here. You can have this while we chat.”

Feyre peered inside to find a chocolate croissant.

“I thought we were going on a road trip.”

“We will if you still agree to come with me after I’ve briefed you on what to expect.” He removed his shoes and took place at the table. 

“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” Feyre said as she joined him.

“You always do.”

Feyre glared at him. “Really? So if I decided to drop you, you’d let me out of the deal? After everything I’ve learned about you, after all the time you’ve spent training me?”

She wasn’t quite sure why she had asked; he’d told her the answer during their first meeting all those months ago. He had never hidden what he was, what he could do, and she was the one who had accepted to work for him knowing there was no way back. He likely considered her to be fully part of his team now, but where did that leave them? The banter, the flirty texts, the worry she’d seen in his eyes yesterday…Did he think of her as a friend, or was she simply part of an advantageous bargain for him, a mean to an end?

He smirked and gulped his coffee before answering, his gaze meeting hers. “I don’t need to entertain these thoughts, since I don’t believe you will leave.”

Arrogant bastard. “Oh?” she sneered. “And how can you be so sure?”

His expression became more serious, contemplative. “Because I see how determined you are. How angry. How your need for justice drives you. How far you’re willing to go for revenge. You have it in your blood.”

His blue eyes twinkled, and Feyre found herself unable to look away. 

“Also, let’s be honest,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “you can’t keep away from this.” He gestured toward his face.

Feyre scowled, her dazzled state gone, and threw a piece of her croissant at him. He laughed as it bounced off his chest. “That’s how you thank people for buying you pastries?”

“You were asking for it.”

He shrugged. “Alright, maybe I find it cute when you’re riled.”

Feyre fought her blush and was about to let him know just exactly how _cute_ she could be if he kept going when she was startled by her doorbell for the second time that day.

She froze, having no clue who could be visiting her on a Sunday morning. 

“Were you expecting someone?” Rhys asked, frowning.

“No, of course not.”

She got to the door, thinking perhaps a neighbour wanted to borrow eggs. 

Her eyes opened wide once she saw her visitor. Definitely not a neighbour.

“Elain!”

Her sister stood in front of her, looking as elegant as ever in her dark green raincoat.

“Hey!” Elain said in greeting. “I hope I’m not bothering you, I went to the market nearby and thought I’d bring you a little something.”

She handed Feyre a reusable bag full of fresh vegetables. 

“Oh...thank you.” 

After Feyre had dropped out of her senior year last winter, following Clare’s death, Elain had made efforts to bridge the distance between them, texting more often and making sure Feyre was alright by occasionally bringing little gifts, such as the paint she’d bought her at the end of summer. Feyre had failed to tell her she had not painted or drawn anything in months.

She was genuinely glad to see her sister, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. The last thing she wanted was to drag her family into this dangerous world; having Elain meet Rhysand seemed like doing just that.

The entrance of her apartment faced the kitchen table, and before Feyre could come up with an excuse, Elain had already spotted Rhys over her shoulder. Her sister’s cheeks flushed. “Oh! I’m sorry, this is a bad time, I didn’t know you had company.”

Rhys rose from his chair to approach them, and Feyre realized she had no choice but to introduce them. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. This is Rhys, my…”

Boss? Colleague? Friend? But Elain had already noticed the hesitation. Her eyes lit up, her mouth forming an “oh” in understanding as she drew her conclusion and turned her attention to Rhys. He was already extending a hand, smirking like a Cheshire cat. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.

“This is Elain, my sister,” Feyre said through her teeth. She tried not to think about how her sweet, gentle sister would react if she knew that the man she was shaking hands with had stabbed someone to death hours ago.

“Rhys is…” Feyre attempted again, but Elain interrupted. “Nice meeting you, too! I’m so sorry to barge in like that, I didn’t know Feyre was seeing someone.”

Mortified, Feyre corrected her a bit too eagerly. “Rhys and I aren’t together.”

“Right.” Elain gave her a knowing look. “Well, I’ll be on my way, I don’t want to intrude. Let’s catch up another time.”

“I’ll call you,” Feyre promised. “Thanks for the food.” 

They said their goodbyes, and once the door was closed, Feyre could feel the shit-eating grin on Rhysand’s face before seeing it.

“Great,” she grumbled. “Next thing we know, she’ll invite you over for Thanksgiving.”

Rhys went back to his seat. “Would that be so bad?” 

_Yes_ , Feyre thought. Nesta certainly wouldn’t respond as positively as Elain. It was better not to let the two of them ever cross paths. 

“I don’t like lying to my sisters. The less they know about you, the better.”

“Still, if you ever need me to play the boyfriend, just ask. No need to be shy.”

Against her will, images started popping in her head at his mention of the word “boyfriend". Thanks to him teaching her self-defense, she knew what his muscled arms would feel like wrapped around her; she pictured his hands against her back, sliding lower, his lips tracing her jaw, and... 

She blinked, fighting her daydream and the heat that had started to pool in her lower belly, and rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up. This will never happen.”

Cauldron, she needed to end that dry spell and go on a date. Things were getting bad if she was starting to have these thoughts about him _._ Sure, he was attractive, incredibly so, but he was her boss, and she had no doubt he already received the attention of plenty of gorgeous women. Lusting after him was not an option.

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and she hurried to change the subject. “What did you want to talk about, anyway?”

“Alright. Back to business.” Rhys braced his arms on the table. “As you’ve seen yesterday, someone’s stirring discord in the city.”

“Amarantha.”

He nodded. “It would appear so.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“I do. She used to be a big shot here as a real estate developer. It was years ago, when my father was in charge of our organization, and he often dealt with her. Let’s just say… he didn’t trust her. Not long after he was killed, and I took over… she disappeared. I had not heard about her until a few months ago, through mentions of her meddling with my territory like you saw last night. We haven’t been able to locate her. I need to learn more, such as whether she’s working alone, what her plan is.”

Feyre wondered if both of his parents’ deaths had occurred at the same time. Now didn’t feel like a good time to ask, though.

Rhys took a sip of coffee. “There’s someone who might have answers. He used to be a vice detective in Hybern, a brilliant one who knew all the dirt and gossip. He ended up accepting an undercover job, and…it messed with his head. It went too far. Long story short, he did things he shouldn’t have done, got arrested and received a prison sentence last year.

“Hybern?” Feyre questioned. The city was a good five hours drive away from Prythian. “What does it have to do with what’s going on here?”

“The city's biggest gang leader and I are not on good terms, to say the least. While many people would love to kill me, he’s probably on top of the list. He's also very ambitious. I know that ruling over one city was never enough for him. That would be his style to try to expand his empire by getting a foothold in Prythian. If Amarantha’s working for him, which I suspect, the guy I plan to see today might know.”

“So if I understand correctly, you have beef with a crime boss in Hybern, and you suspect he might have allied with this Amarantha to expand his territory, take over this city and kill you.” Feyre summarized. “And you want to visit a demoted detective in prison who might know information about it. Am I correct?”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

She remembered a detail from yesterday. "That's why you wanted to know if she had any tattoos."

"Yes. Her bearing the King’s brand would have been a way to know if she’s working for him. That's the name he goes by," he added when he noticed Feyre’s confusion.

"The _King_? Seriously?" 

Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Yes. He might be campy, but do not underestimate him. He's dangerous and cruel, and his morals are non-existent. There’s no limit to what he might resort to in order to get what he wants."

Feyre fought her shiver. “And what do I have to do with all of this? Why do you want me to go with you?”

Rhys shifted in his seat. “The informant I want to talk to won’t help us out of the kindness of his heart. He’ll ask for something in return. I know he’s not interested in smuggling goods inside; what he wants is a distraction. Fresh blood to puzzle out, to analyze. It’s his passion. He’ll be thrilled to feel out a new member in my inner circle, a new player in the game.”

Oh.

She was Rhys’s currency, then.

_I think you have plenty to offer_ , he’d said when they’d first met. It made a little more sense now.

“You planned to take me there eventually when you hired me, didn’t you?”

“I won’t deny that it was a possibility.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her; he’d do what was necessary to save himself and his organization, but the feeling of being used stung. 

Rhys sighed before continuing. “He will ask you...personal questions. Most likely about your life, your past, your motives. Which is why I wanted to warn you. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t force you to answer.”

Feyre considered his words. Rhysand would truly drop his best chance at getting information if she didn’t feel mentally capable of doing what it took. At first glance, answering questions didn’t seem so terrible, but there was a reason behind his warning. Detectives knew where to push, what weaknesses to exploit. There was a possibility he’d find old wounds to poke at, those who had been roughly patched up but never properly tended to. She wasn’t how to stop the bleeding if the bandaid was ripped. But for months, she’d been learning how to address opponents, how to adjust to every situation; physical fights were not the only types of battles she’d have to engage in. 

She gave Rhys a firm, resolved look. “And what else should I know about this infamous detective, slash prisoner?” 

Rhys crossed his arms before answering. “His name is Carver Bones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a small chapter, I’m not sure how I feel about it, but the next one will be more packed. Let me know what you think <3


	7. chapter 7

The Hybern County Federal Prison was located about 100 miles outside the city of Hybern, and at a four-hour travelling distance from Prythian. Rhys had assured Feyre that they’d have time to visit Carver Bones and come back home within the day.

They’d stopped half-way at a rest area for a bathroom break. As she waited in line for a stall, Feyre pondered what Rhys had instructed her.

_Don’t lie._

_Don’t avoid his gaze._

_Don’t reveal your emotions._

It would be a power game, after all. That was how detectives operated, how they manipulated suspects into revealing their hand. She apprehended the encounter, but prison was a safe enough environment. With guards everywhere and Rhys not leaving her side, nothing bad could happen, physically at least. 

By midday, the sun had pierced the clouds and chased the rain away. As she made her way back to the car, Feyre spotted Rhys leaning against it, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, conversing with a stranger. She couldn’t hear them, but the brunette’s body language was quite clear as she leaned closer to him, a hand on her hip, the other playing with a strand of her hair.

Feyre picked up her pace, a hint of annoyance finding a way up her chest. Rhys snapped his head toward her, and the stranger followed his gaze, her smile fading at the sight of her.

“Well,” the woman said to Rhys, “if you ever change your mind and plan to extend your stay in Hybern, you know where to find me.” She winked before walking away.

Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You pick up women at rest areas?”

Rhys raised his palms. “She’s the one who approached me.”

“So? You’re gonna act on her offer?”

Rhys walked around the car to get to the driver’s seat. “And abandon you in that wretched city? Certainly not. Unless you want to join.”

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Feyre said dryly.

They were both seated now, but instead of starting the ignition, Rhys smiled wickedly at her. “Are you jealous, Feyre darling?”

“I am not jealous, nor your darling.” She fished out a pair of sunglasses from her purse, her hand brushing the gun she now carried and put them on before crossing her arms.

He snickered as he started driving, leading them toward the highway. “Why are you pouting, then?”

Feyre scowled. “Because you’re a pain in my ass. And keep your eyes on the road, you’re gonna get us killed.”

He simply let out a low laugh. Insufferable prick.

His phone rang on the car’s integrated Bluetooth. It was the fifth call he was receiving since they’d left; he’d gotten two from Mor inquiring about shipments, one from Cerridwen asking about the company sponsoring the Adriata Grand Prix in March, and one from Cassian informing Rhys about the little visit he’d paid to a pusher failing to collect his clients’ debts. This one was from Azriel.

“Vassa is pissed that he’s dead”, the spy said. “She can’t interrogate him. She suspects we’re behind it.”

“What d’you tell her?”

“That I had no idea what she was talking about, that the tip wasn’t from us, and that if she kept sticking her nose in our business every time a crime was committed we’d put an end to our partnership.”

“I bet she wasn’t pleased.”

“She wasn’t, but she backed off.”

Vassa. Feyre remembered the name from yesterday. Rhys had told Azriel to “send word to her about the girls.”

“Who’s Vassa?” She asked Rhys once he had ended the call.

“A lieutenant. We tip her on a few infractions occurring in the city, so the police can pretend to be making signs of progress, and in return, they leave us alone. Too many influential public figures are associated with our business for them to truly investigate us. Yesterday Azriel gave her a tip to help the girls, but he kept it anonymous so we wouldn’t be linked to the murder.”

“What public figures?”

“A bunch of stuck-up politicians. Mayor Nolan, for instance. Or filthy rich businessmen like Helion Cleaver.”

Feyre snorted but didn’t add anything. It wasn’t surprising that Prythian’s elite was involved in various degrees of criminal activity. One didn’t become loaded by following a clean and honest path.

An hour passed, the silence filled with hit songs from the popular, generic station Rhys had set the radio on. A safe choice that meant he wouldn’t reveal what he usually listened to. She was half tempted to connect her Spotify to the Bluetooth to gauge his reaction, but she chose to snoop instead and opened up the glove compartment.

A gun, various receipts, a flip phone that was most likely a burner, and…a Trojan pack of three.

Her cheeks heated, but appearing flustered was not an option.

She grabbed the pack and opened it. “Only one left? Looks like you pick up women at rest areas after all.” Her voice was an octave higher than usual.

He chuckled. “Perhaps there was already one left when I stored it there.”

“And when did you store it there?”

He glanced at her, his eyes gleaming with delight. “Are you asking me if I brought it for this trip?”

His voice had become a low, drawling purr that made Feyre shiver.

“Well, did you?” She breathed, her heartbeat quickening.

“Oh, Feyre. If you and I fucked, we’d need more than one condom.”

His words made her breath caught in her throat, and a sling of arousal shot to her core as her daydreams from earlier resurfaced. She couldn’t help but picture his broad hands all over her, roughly grabbing her breasts, then her thighs, her ass, while his lips sucked on her neck, and then he’d hoist her up against a wall, spread her legs, and…

Cauldron.

She bit back the reply on her tongue, fearing that if she kept up with his game, she’d end up begging him to take the next exit so she could either fill her mouth with his cock or climb over the console to get in his lap and give him the ride of his life.

Where did that come from?

She shifted on her seat, her underwear now uncomfortably damp, and she knew he noted the movement as she saw him bite his lower lip from the corner of her eyes.

She put back the condom box in the glove department and fished her phone from her purse, desperate to get rid of the charged atmosphere that had invaded the cab. She had no notifications but pretended to browse anyway. She’d think about dealing with her lust later, much later, once she wasn’t stuck in an enclosed space with him. Perhaps she’d download a dating app and pick someone to scratch that itch. She hadn’t been with anyone since Tamlin; her touch-starved body simply reacted to the attractive man she was spending her time with. He was already smug enough; she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was getting under her skin.

**⠀**

Feyre had never set foot in a prison before; she hadn’t thought about the fact that her name needed to be on an inmate’s list of approved visitors for her to be allowed in, but Rhys had anteriorly taken care of everything. Obviously.

They took place at a circle, metal table in the visiting room. Feyre rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans. Rhys didn’t miss the movement.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “If he’s too much of a dick to you, say the word and we leave.”

The tension between them had dampened. For the rest of the ride, Feyre had done her best to initiate harmless topics, such as the Adriata Grand Prix Cerridwen had mentioned. Rhys had told her they sponsored it every year, the event a goldmine for gambling, drugs, and all matters of illicit activities.

A guard entered the room followed by a shackled prisoner. His skin was pale, and he was entirely bald, his head covered in tattoos. As he took place across from her, Feyre realized they were comic-like doodles. His eyes were the same brown as Mor, but while her friend’s eyes radiated warmth and honey sweetness, his were icy and empty like a barren land.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice raspy like someone who had spent a lifetime smoking. “What a wonderful surprise you bring me today, Rhysand,” he said, his cold eyes glued on Feyre. As Rhys instructed her, she didn’t balk at his stare and kept her chin high.

He inclined his head slightly. “It’s an honour, Miss Archeron.”

She didn’t waste time with formalities. “If I answer your questions, will you answer ours?”

“If the visit isn’t over by the time I’m done with you, yes.”

Feyre braced herself. “What do you want to know about me?”

“Tell me about yourself, dear Feyre. Do you have a family?”

“My mother died of cancer when I was eight, leaving my father alone with three daughters. I’m the youngest.”

“And what’s your relationship with them?”

“My father…we haven’t talked in years. And my sisters…we see each other on holidays, mostly. We aren’t very close.”

Unease crept through her. Talking about her was one thing, but her family…The more details he knew, the more dangerous it became for them. She prayed he wouldn’t pry.

Bones rubbed his hands together, beaming. “Oh, quite the little tragic past you have. Not a very happy life, I take it.”

Feyre tried not to show her disgust. For Bones, people were like lab rats, existing to fulfill his morbid curiosity. He delighted in hearing tales of their pain, fascinated with how far someone’s suffering risked pushing them.

She kept her face blank, unflinching. “It could have been happier, indeed. But I turned out fine.”

So fine had sunk knee-deep in criminal activity, training to become an assassin.

Bones turned his attention to Rhys. “You fucked her yet?”

Feyre clenched her teeth and gripped the edge of the bench.

Rhys clicked his tongue. “If you wanted to ask _me_ questions, Bones, I wouldn’t have given Feyre the displeasure of meeting you,” he answered, his tone dark. He softly put his right hand over hers and ran his thumb over her knuckles. The gesture was comforting, with no hint of possession in it.

Bones didn’t miss any of it, and for some reason, his thin lips twisted in a victorious smile.

He turned his head back to Feyre. “How were you spending your time before…all this began?”

“Before Rhysand hired me, I was working as a waitress. I went to college, but I dropped out.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She took a deep breath. “Because my friend and roommate killed herself, and I…I couldn’t stand being in an environment where I had spent so much time with her. My heart would ache every time I’d have usually eaten lunch with her or studied, or simply walked across campus. I moved to the opposite side of town and found a job. I thought maybe…If I started a new life, her absence would hurt less since there wouldn’t be any void where she should have been.”

There it was. She had never said it out loud. The true reason why she had dropped out, why she avoided anything that reminded her of her friend.

“Excellent, excellent,” Bones said, a ravenous expression on his face. “And now you’re part of wicked Rhysand’s crew. Quite the bad girl you’ve become, ready to do his bidding.” A low laugh. “What do you want, exactly?”

“Revenge. Retribution. To punish the man who hurt her.”

Bones tilted his head. “Just him? Surely you’ve been wronged by other people before. You could use the privilege of being Rhysand’s pet to your advantage and kill them too.”

Feyre scowled. “I am no one’s pet.”

“So you say. Did you come up with that inspiring quote when you left Tamlin Rosewood?”

Feyre flinched, her efforts not to show any emotions crumbling like a sandcastle during a storm. Her stomach twisted, and a wave of anxiety made her chest ache. Breathing normally became difficult as the memories of a trashed apartment and screams slithered in her thoughts.

_How could he possibly know?_

She got up and hurried toward the exit, desperate for fresh air, not caring if she was ruining their chance at getting information. Rhys followed after her.

Feyre managed to keep it together as she picked up her purse from security and walked as fast as she could to get out. Once outside, she leaned against the railing of the wheelchair ramp. Her breathing was fast, too fast, the knot in her chest not easing, her fingers starting to feel tingly…

“Feyre.” Rhys came up next to her and laid a steady hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Breathe into your belly and hold your breath.” His voice was commanding, but soft.

“That’s it. Now exhale.”

She followed his instructions, her breathing slowly coming back to normal.

She managed to say, her voice a bit shaky, “How did he know my ex’s name?”

Rhys pursed his lips. “I had him put you on his visiting list a few weeks ago. He likely did his research about you. I’m sorry.”

Feyre shook his hand away, anger replacing her panic despite the overwhelming exhaustion now settling within her. “You should have asked my permission before handing out my identity to that sneaky, intrusive bastard,” she spat at him, her voice a bit shaky.

He looked down. “You’re right. I should have asked you.”

“I’m willing to honour my part of our deal. To do your dirty work. But if you keep carrying me around like a puppet, expecting me to just follow you like a puppy and refusing to tell me anything when I have the right to know, I am _done_.” She poked his chest with her finger as she said the last word.

She turned around and headed toward the parking lot before he could reply.

**⠀**

_Rhysand_

**⠀**

Rhys had turned off his phone, not wanting to deal with business while Feyre was royally pissed at him. Putting on his usual cool, snarky mask in front of her while she was in this state would feel wrong, somehow.

She hadn’t uttered a word since they’d left the prison two hours ago, choosing to ignore him during the ride back.

He’d have to deal with Carver Bones himself. The fucker had broken his promise of not mentioning Tamlin, and with that leverage and the questions Feyre had agreed to answer, he’d find a way to force him into spilling what he knew about the King.

Guilt was an emotion he rarely let himself feel. He cheated, lied, tortured and killed for a living; he took what he wanted, broke the laws and never apologized for any of it. But keeping this truth from Feyre…

He tried to suppress the queasy feeling in his stomach. If she knew he had a history with her piece of shit of an ex—a messy, bloody history, and had omitted to tell her until now, she would never forgive him. Especially now that she’d know he had revealed that piece of information to Bones to convince him to meet her. That her ex was the son of the man who had betrayed his father and killed his entire family. He’d changed his name from Springs to Rosewood after Rhys had retaliated and murdered Tamlin’s father and brother, choosing to give up on the Springs business and leave the underworld. 

She deserved to know. Deserved better than this dangerous, violent life he was dragging her into. But if he told her, and she ran away from him…He knew nothing would stop her from getting her revenge. While he had no doubt she could handle herself, she’d have no one to back her up and the odds of her getting caught would be too high. Once their deal was completed and Dagdan was dead, he’d tell her. It would kill him to lose her, but he’d do it.

He’d been attracted to her since they met. She was beautiful and fierce, and since that first night they’d trained together, the first time they had bonded, he couldn’t help but picture her spirited, sarcastic nature in bed; her full, plush lips teasing his cock, the freckles on her nose he’d kiss one by one, her long, slender legs wrapped tightly around his waist, how she’d look at him with those fiery grey-blue eyes as she rode him.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d need more than one condom with her. He’d take hours to taste her, to worship every inch of her body. Then they would fuck for days.

Cauldron, he wanted her.

Seducing her wasn’t an option, though. Not when he was so blatantly lying to her.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to keep their relationship strictly professional. Couldn’t help but want her close to him, send her flirty texts, join her at the gym at night to train and banter. She flirted back, her sharp tongue never failing to amuse him, but he’d never seen her truly smile or laugh in the months he’d known her. He wondered if she’d become so anger-driven, so hopeless, that she was keeping herself from feeling any joy. The thought broke his heart.

A soft snore drove him away from his thoughts, and he whipped his head toward Feyre who had fallen asleep, probably drained due to her panic attack. A strand of golden-brown hair had fallen over her face, and he resisted the urge to push it aside, turning his attention back on the road.

He would lose her, but if he could coax just one smile, one laugh from her… he knew he would cherish the moment forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm feyrearcherons on tumblr if you want to say hi.


End file.
